A Peruvian Easter and a very special birthday

Easter is another one of those holidays filled with traditions, especially for my mother’s side of the family. Being Catholic, we’d always attend a very solemn and reverent mass, only to return home to race and scramble across the house, searching for hidden plastic eggs filled with coins. Then there was the egg dying, and the egg decorating contest, and of course the decorating which occurred earlier, which consisted of hanging big plastic eggs from the trees. Eggs, eggs, and more eggs. As I explained these traditions to some newfound Peruvian friends, they stared at me in wonder. I had hiked an hour up the mountain to visit them at their house and share pachamanca, a traditional Peruvian dish here in the sierra, to celebrate the beginning of Holy Week. As we reached into the fire pit to pull out sweat potatoes and passed around cheese and baked apples, I was asked to describe how Easter was typically celebrated in the States. When I had finished, one of the family members cackled, gesturing to the fields nearby with waist-high grass, “Can you imagine hiding eggs in there?! We’d never find them!” I had to laugh with them and agree. Easter was sure to be quite different here in Peru, but special nonetheless.

Since I had now finished three months of service, I was allowed to start taking vacation days. For every month I work, I earn two vacation days that I can use and save as I see fit. Peruvian holidays are treated as “freebies,” free vacation days that you don’t have to earn to use. Easter and the days leading up to it are known as Semana Santa (Holy Week) and are considered free vacation days for us volunteers. This was the perfect opportunity to do a bit of traveling, and I had my heart set on going to the district capital of Ayacucho, which was considered the place to celebrate Holy Week in Peru. Even better, my parents from the States had scheduled a visit as well and would be flying to Ayacucho city to meet me. After three months of work in site, two of which being the rainy season, and after five months of not seeing my family, to say that I was looking forward to my first Easter in Peru was an understatement.

I was fortunate that there were lots of Peace Corps volunteers also heading to Ayacucho, and they had been kind enough to buy a bus ticket for me. We got the tickets for a steal, 35 soles each. Normally ticket prices are jacked up enormously for the holiday season and you’re lucky to find tickets as cheap as 60 soles. However, we got what we paid for. We boarded the bus at 8:15 PM and settled in for an overnight trip. I wouldn’t say the seats were exactly uncomfortable, but the roads were so twisty and winding that you were constantly being tossed and battered around. Sleep was impossible. We arrived in Ayacucho at 4:00 AM and, to cap the surrealness of the moment, watched as live llamas were pulled from the underbelly of the bus. Grabbing my stuff, I hailed a cab, went to the hotel I had booked, and crashed for two hours until my parents arrived. 

I hadn’t realized just how much I missed my parents until mom practically burst into the room. Until that point, we had called each other about once a week, so I felt pretty updated on what was going on in their lives and within my family. However, there were always obstacles: rainstorms would cut off cell reception, calls would be dropped without warning, static and strange electronic echoes were heard in the background, etc. Being able to talk with mom and dad, physically hug them, and spend quality time with them face-to-face was such a blessing. They had also had a long night of travel and were equally tired, so we spent our first day in Ayacucho resting and recuperating and just spending time together.

Ayacucho really is a lovely city. Being the capital of the Ayacucho district, it’s a fairly large city but somehow still has a small-town feel. The roads are made with cobblestone, old colonial buildings line an open and tree-laden plaza, women in both traditional skirts, mantas, and top hats walk side by side with teens in tattered jeans and sneakers, and, being located in Peru’s sierra, the city is surrounded by lush green landscape and rolling mountains. City life had definitely increased due to Holy Week and, due to the influx of both national and international tourists, street vendors had a field day. Along the streets you could find men and women pushing carts of fruit, selling a variety of homemade cookies and biscuits, carrying buckets of jello and chincha morada, a sugary drink made from purple corn, baskets of corn and cheese, and, my personal favorite, churning big metal pots to make mayuchi, a type of slushy ice cream with a flavor of burnt caramel. And, being the Holy Week capital of Peru, there was a total of not one, not two, but thirty-three churches in the city, one for each year of Jesus’ life. You could literally find a church on every block.

When mom, dad, and I had mustered up enough energy, we began to explore some of these wonderful features of Ayacucho. We were even surprised by a nighttime procession. In order to reenact the interactions between Mary and Jesus in the moments leading up to the crucifixion, several of the local churches had constructed two beautiful andas, large alter-like palanquins that are carried on people’s shoulders. The andas were covered in candles and flowers and topped with either a figure of Mary or Jesus. It took about 9-12 people to carry each one through the streets and the andas were so tall that, before it arrived, someone had to use a large bamboo pole to lift telephone wires out of its path. The andas were preceded by a marching band and at each corner the band and procession would stop, a choir would sing, and a priest would wave incense and go through steps of the rosary. As we would soon learn, these processions were practically a nightly occurrence.

Thursday we decided we would be tourists for a day. It was actually quite nice for me, especially since I had been having a very un-touristy experience for the past five months. We went to a local travel agency and scheduled a 2:30 tour to three neighboring towns: Huari, Pampa Ayacucho, and Quinoa. In typical Peruvian fashion, things didn’t go quite according to plan. We arrived at the tour office at 2:30 and were rounded up with a bunch of other Spanish-speaking tourists. We were then, in a very disorganized fashion, split into two groups. For some reason, the tour guides couldn’t find our bus. We then spent the next hour going up and down streets, round and around blocks, and loading and unloading onto buses that weren’t actually ours. Mom, thankfully, found the situation hilarious. Dad, on the other hand, was not amused. You could practically see the steam coming out of his ears. It is times like those that I’m glad I’m the only one that can speak Spanish. Finally we found our bus. It was parked in the plaza, right outside the tour office. “Welcome to Peru,” I said cynically as we all took our seats.

Despite our rough start, the tour was actually quite lovely. During our vacations my family loves to learn something new, and we definitely got to see and learn a lot about Peruvian culture and history during our tour day. In Huari, we got to see ruins of the ancient Huari civilization. We gazed at the remains of the priests’ quarters, royal burial chambers and underground catacombs, stone alters, uncovered pottery and other artifacts, and even a mummy. Machu Picchu it was not, but still quite interesting nonetheless. In Pampa Ayacucho we got to learn about some of Peru’s more modern history and visited a memorial dedicated to the Battle of Ayacucho. The memorial, which consisted of a large, stone obelisk, was dedicated to the Peruvian soldiers who, although greatly outmatched, defeated the Spanish army along the same mountainside. Finally in Quinoa, we got to visit several artisan houses that specialized in pottery making. Since we had started an hour late, it was now quite dark and evening was falling quite fast. We got back into Ayacucho around 7:30-8:00, happy but starving. We found an old colonial mansion that had been converted to a restaurant, sat outside next to a fire, and had wonderful food.

Friday was another relaxing day and we spent it exploring the streets of Ayacucho. We visited several churches and were amazed that, despite being conducted in Spanish, we could understand most of what was going on during the services. Due to our Catholic background, we could recognize the rhythms and intonations of several familiar prayers and hymns. We also found an artisan market. Mom and I went a little crazy. Deprived of a serious mom-and-daughter shopping spree for over five months, we practically skipped from stall to stall, “oohing” and “aahing” at the showcases of weaving, embroidery, macramé, and leatherwork. Returning back to the room with considerably more bags and far fewer soles, we decided to hang out for the rest of the day. I had requested that my parents bring a board game called Settlers of Catan and decided that it was a good time to teach them how to play. We grabbed the game, headed to a nearby café, and played for several hours. Both mom and dad really got into the game, and dad decided he wanted to buy it for themselves when they returned to the States. To finish the night, we had another nice dinner and then went to explore the plaza. All day, local artists and school groups had been working on murals in the street. Using only dyed mulch, chalk powder, and flower petals, each artist created a beautiful and very life-like picture along the cobblestones. Some of these works were of smiling children, mothers with babies, doves, churches, and other religious symbols, Incan images of gods and goddesses, etc. The pictures had a short lifespan, though. Shortly afterwards, there was yet another procession. Police officers led the way carrying candles and others followed carrying a huge, glass coffin with the image of a crucified Christ inside. Symbolizing Christ’s death, the procession marched solemnly around the plaza over the flower murals (mom about cried) until it reached the main cathedral. By that point, mom and dad were ready to turn in for the night. I decided to stay out a little while longer, met up with the other Peace Corps volunteers, and played card games while sharing contraband American candy.

Saturday is the main day of celebration. The morning kicked off with a running of the bulls. We all gathered in an area several blocks away from the main plaza and waited as a truck arrived bearing six fully-grown bulls. Men on horseback also arrived in order to help herd the bulls to the main plaza, where they would run around loose before being rounded back up and carted off. One by one men on horseback would ride up to the truck, tie a long rope to their saddle, and then toss the other end in the truck to be tied to the horns of a bull. Since the crowd was enormous and because I’m rather short (although, believe it or not, I’m considered a bit on the tall side for a woman here in Peru), I could never see when, exactly, the hatch of the truck was lowered and the bull released. But I could feel it. Without warning, the crowd would surge backwards and scream as the horse galloped pass, leading the bull behind it. And then they would run. The ultimate goal was to run with the bull and touch it from behind, but with both the horse and the bull charging at full speed (and since lots of people were quite drunk), this was very hard to do. I was extremely proud of my parents. Despite both having bad legs (my dad had knee surgery and my mom broke her leg a couple of years ago and it still causes her pain), they decided to run just like everyone else. I ended up with the Peace Corps volunteers and we ran several times, gradually following the bulls as they arrived at the main plaza. Along the way, people tossed buckets of water from the windows to douse the runners and they sprinted past. When we arrived in the plaza and once the bulls were taken away, the next activity was making human towers. The goal was to make a human pyramid as tall as possible, which is easier said than done. Again, the plaza was packed, which only added to they mayhem. I only saw people make three-layer towers, with the top being crowned by a skinny, petit girl. Of course, all the drunken men would hoot and holler and try to convince her to take her shirt off. In one tower, a 14-year old boy was the crowning piece and he decided to take the men up on their offer. Stripping off his shirt, he proceeded to shake and grind in Chippendale-like fashion. The men, not amused, proceeded to boo and throw empty and half-filled beer cans at him.

The next adventure was taking mom and dad up to a nearby hilltop for a local fair. We whole hillside was covered with vendors, selling everything from pots and pans to cows and produce. We weren’t there for the shopping, though. My goal was to give them a taste of real, local food. I finally found a woman selling pachamanca and ordered two plates for us to share. I could tell neither mom nor dad was too keen on it, but I give them points for trying. As we ate, we got a wonderful panoramic view of all of Ayacucho to enjoy. Getting back down the hill proved to be quite a challenge, though. We had taken a local bus in order to arrive, but were advised from more experienced Peace Corps volunteers not to take it back due to heavy traffic. Mom and dad both felt up to walking, so we joined the other volunteers and hiked down together. There was safety in numbers. Pickpockets, some volunteers unfortunately discovered, were having a field day with the heavy crowds. We huddled together and fended them off, even confronting one or two, as we descended down the hill and made it back to our hotels for a well-earned rest.

The festivities didn’t stop there. To celebrate the coming resurrection of Christ, fireworks were launched intermittently all night. Mom, dad, and I watched them after dinner and, once they decided to go back to the hotel, I joined the rest of the volunteers in the plaza to stay up all night and continue watching the show. Besides the typical fireworks, the city had also constructed several castillas, which you could call the Rube Goldberg of fireworks. Castillas are huge 1-2 story bamboo frame towers with all sorts of firework gizmos and gadgets hanging on and off them. Once the fuse is lit at the bottom of the tower, the flame travels upward and gradually ignites different parts of the tower: pinwheels, sparklers, Roman candles, fireworks that later explode into banners and ribbons, and the “UFO.” The “UFO” is a small, spherical or flattened piece of the castilla located near the top of the tower that, when lit, flies off like a UFO into the air, only to explode into a dazzling array of sparks and colors. I think out of all of the castillas, only one or two actually flew upward as planned. The rest ended up colliding into rooftops (one actually smashed brilliantly into a stone cross on top of a nearby cathedral) or dive-bombing into the crowds. One even flew into a neighboring castilla, accidentally lighting its fuse. We, unfortunately, were trapped between them and ended up getting showered in sparks from both sides.

The night’s fun ended with the celebration of Christ’s resurrection. A mass was held at 4:00 AM in the main cathedral and, once the service concluded, the air was filled with the ringing of bells. The doors to the cathedral opened, and out came a huge, one-story tall anda. It was terraced like a Mayan temple and covered in white silk and candles. Once it cleared the doorway, the figure of Jesus was raised from the top of the anda pyramid, symbolizing His resurrection. Men on the rooftop of the church began throwing flower petals and more fireworks were lit as the anda was reverently carried around the plaza. I had been surviving mostly on adrenaline and Red Bulls, but by this point I was beat. As dawn came, I went back to the hotel to pass out.

Sunday and Monday proved to be relaxing days for me and my family. Most of the other volunteers and tourists left Sunday night, while mom, dad, and I enjoyed a couple of extra, peaceful days in Ayacucho. We played lots and lots of Settlers of Catan.

To end our trip, we left early Tuesday morning for Lima to enjoy some time in Peru’s capital. Dad chose a wonderful hotel, and boy oh boy did it feel good to be in a big, fluffy bed, with a nice, hot shower, and English TV. The hotel had a spa area, so I even got a massage! But our trip to Lima wasn’t about me; it was about mom. April 3^rd was her birthday, and we were determined to make it special. That night we had a very nice dinner at a restaurant overlooking Huaca Pucllana, an ancient ruin located in Lima’s Miraflores district. The next day we slept in, treated ourselves to a nice breakfast, and headed to the Larco Museum. Well, sort of.

Travel in Peru is always an adventure, and Lima is no exception. Now, the Larco Museum is one of the best-rated museums in Lima, so you’d think taxi drivers would know where it is, right? Nope. This is what happened with the first taxi driver:

“Hello! We’d like to go to the Larco Museum, please.”

“Oh sure. You want to go to Larcomar?” (Note: Larcomar is a beachside shopping area)

“No, we want to go to the Larco Museum.”

“Oh, you want to go to the Gold Museum?”

“No! The LARCO MUSEUM.

“…”

“Do you know it or not?”

“Sure, sure! Now I remember. The Larco Museum. It’ll cost you 9 soles.”

Once we all got into the cab, things didn’t get much better:

“So how about going to the Art Museum?”

“No thanks, we want to go to the Larco Museum.”

“The Gold Museum is also really nice, you know. I could take you there…”

“WE WANT TO GO TO THE LARCO MUSEUM!”

After about a 30-40 min. drive, we pull up to a large metal gate. On the other side of the road is a very nice looking building, which I assumed was the museum.

“Ok we’re here. Museum is on the other side of the street.”

I looked again. I remembered reading that the museum was in an old, colonial mansion, and this building certainly looked the part. So, without further ado, we paid and got out of the cab. Since we needed to cross the street, I figured it would be a good idea to know exactly where the museum entrance was before we faced the heavy traffic. I went up to the gate to where a guard was posted, and very politely asked him directions to the Larco Museum front door.

“I’m sorry, miss, but this is a hospital, not a museum.”

“I know this is a hospital. I’m asking where the front door to the museum is.”

“This is our front door.”

“No, no, the front door to the Larco Museum.”

“This is a hospital.”

“I KNOW this is a hospital. I’m asking where the entrance is to the museum across the street.”

“Well we have another side entrance a block away.”

“I DO NOT CARE ABOUT YOUR ENTRANCE. I want to know where the entrance is to THAT museum (I point across the street).”

“….miss, this is a hospital.”

“FOR THE LOVE OF GOD! I KNOW THAT! WHERE IS THE ENTRANCE TO THE DAMN MUSEUM THAT IS ACROSS THE STREET FROM YOU??!!!”

Ok, so I kind of lost it a bit. After going through this conversation at least three more times, the guard finally told me that the entrance to the museum was a block down the road. In a huff, I dragged my sniggering parents across the street, marched down to the entrance and up to a guard, and demanded to be let into the museum.

“…miss, this isn’t a museum.”

“…what?”

“This is the UN building. What museum, exactly, are you looking for?”

“The Larco Museum.”

“Aah…now I understand. That hospital across the street? That’s the Larco Hospital. Your cab driver got confused. Happens all the time.”

No, our cab driver had taken us for a ride, in more ways than one. Thankfully, this guard was considerably kind, helped us flag down another cab, and told our driver, who for some unbeknownst reason also didn’t know a thing about the Larco Museum, explicit directions. After another 30-40 minute cab ride, our driver started to look nervous. He started covering the fact that he didn’t know exactly where he was going by pointing out different streets, buildings, and parks. When he pointed out a nearby hospital, my dad, who knows no Spanish but recognized the word “hospital,” screamed, “WE ARE NOT GOING TO A HOSPITAL! WE’RE GOING TO A MUSEUM!! WHY DOES EVERYONE THINK WE NEED TO GO TO A HOSPITAL?!”

When we finally got to the museum, we were laughing to the point of tears. Although our adventure had cost us a lot of time, the museum was worth the wait. The building itself and the surrounding gardens were beautiful, and the treasures inside were even more breathtaking. We saw room after room of pottery, gold headdresses and jewelry, and ancient tools and household items from all across Peru’s ancient civilizations. Even better, the museum was marked with all sorts of signs and descriptions, in English and Spanish, describing Peru’s ancient history and culture. It was one of the best museums I’ve visited in a long, long time. When we finally passed through all the rooms, we went to the museum restaurant to enjoy good food, drinks, and a birthday dessert.

We finished the day by returning to the Huaca Pucllana ruins. When we had visited before, the ruins were closed and only the restaurant was open. This time we were able to get a guided tour and got to explore the remains of the temple and surrounding grounds. Once again, we learned a great deal about ancient Peru. When the tour finished, we went back to the restaurant to cozy up on a couch and share a nice bottle of wine. We had a birthday toast, laughed and reflected on our day’s adventures, and enjoyed just being together on mom’s special day.

Unfortunately, that was my last full day with my family. The next day my vacation ended and I had to return back to site. I had a 12-hour bus ride awaiting me, so I had to leave early in the morning. Saying goodbye to mom and dad was extremely hard. I loved being able to spend so much time with them, especially since we had been apart for so long. Although we did some amazing things together, for me the best part of my vacation was seeing them beginning to experience true Peruvian culture. I loved seeing them try their first pisco sours and pachamanca, fully participate in the festivities of Holy Week and run with the bulls, and learn about the richness of Peru’s history. I loved introducing them to my fellow Peace Corps volunteers, who have been a great source of support for me as well as endless tales that I relate back home during our weekly phone conversations. I loved seeing mom and dad really enjoy their adventurous vacation, pickpockets, crazy cab drivers and all, and understand why being here in Peru is so meaningful for me. This Easter will always be a special one for me, not just because I spent it in Peru, but because I spent it in Peru with my family.

Working with rug rats

Working with the school system here in Peru has its advantages and disadvantages, but regardless it’s part of the job description of a Peace Corps Volunteer. As a Community Health Volunteer, one of my principal work goals is to work with youth between the ages of 12-17 and provide them with the knowledge and skills needed to prevent sexually transmitted infections, including HIV/AIDS, teen pregnancy, and to make healthier choices. Unfortunately for me, my Peru 20 group was sent to their sites right as the school year was ending and the rainy season was beginning. That doesn’t leave much time to begin working with and forming relationships with teens. Luckily, most Peruvian schools employ a vacacciones útiles, or “useful vacations,” program. When school is out and kids enjoy vacations from January-February, they have the option to attend extra classes. Sometimes they have to take these classes because their grades were too poor; other times they take them in order to prepare for further academic study; sometimes they take them just for fun. The Peace Corps highly encourages its volunteers to participate in the useful vacations program and, in the case of the Community Health Program, it’s required.

Unfortunately for me, my town doesn’t have a useful vacations program. Instead of staying in town, all of Aurahua’s teens head straight for the coast. They stay with their families in Ica and Lima and either work or attend preparatory academies. Younger kids, however, are not old enough to do serious work or study and so normally stay put for the rainy season. Now, just because there are no teens to teach and no useful vacations program to work with doesn’t mean I get a “get out of jail free” card. Even if I could somehow skip out on the program, I wouldn’t have wanted to. Over half of my town had migrated to the coast to escape the rain, and I was desperate for something to do. So, I had to adapt.

Shortly before school was let out, I had the opportunity to talk to the elementary school principal during the Día de Logras (“Day of Accomplishments”). During this academic fair, all the elementary school students presented their major accomplishments of the school year and professors showcased specific skills they had taught them. However, the principal ended the event with a sobering speech and explained that, despite everything, most of the students were behind in math and reading. Now, I’m not exactly a math wiz, but I am an avid bookworm. So, after the event I approached the principal asking how I could help.

I implemented my own version of useful vacations program by designing a literature club. My goal was to help raise the students’ reading abilities, promote reading and a love for books amongst young kids, and encourage kids to use their libraries. Here in Peru, there’s not much of a reading culture. Reading is seen as a tedious chore, and few people have access to books. I’m fortunate that there are libraries in the high school, elementary school, and technical institute here in Aurahua. However, after inspecting the libraries I found that 80-90% of the “books” are training manuals, government documents, and textbooks. Is it any wonder that kids avoid libraries and don’t enjoy reading? Even so, I wanted to encourage kids to frequent the libraries more often.

So, how did I design my program? Well, first I insisted on receiving formal permission from the school principal and the parent teacher’s association, APAFA. Next, I created permission slips to distribute amongst the kids. I decided not to keep a strict attendance, so really it didn’t matter to me what kids were officially signed up to participate or not. However, I did want to know approximately how many kids were interested and intended on attending class. Based on the returned permission slips, I realized that about 25-30 kids wanted to be involved. So, I decided to teach two different classes in order to maintain order and discipline as well as accommodate different reading levels. On Mondays I taught kids between 6-8-years old and on Thursdays I taught 9-11-year old kids. In order to avoid the rain and give kids time to help their families in the afternoon, I taught in the mornings for about 1.5-2 hours. In addition, I insisted that all classes be held in the elementary school library. I wanted to get kids used to using the library and teach them that it could be a fun space. For each class, I would choose one book from the library that was appropriate for the age group’s reading level. I’d start the class by reading it out loud, and then the kids would read it again. They would be assigned a certain amount of paragraphs or pages, and I’d monitor them and correct their pronunciation if need be. We’d also stop to go over tricky vocab if some of the words were unfamiliar. Once the story was read, I always had a game that tested the kids’ comprehension of the story. Then, because everyone wanted to learn English, we’d spend some time learning English vocab words. If the story dealt with animals, we’d learn the English names for common animals. If the story dealt with seasons, we’d learn the English words “winter,” “fall,” “spring,” and “summer.” You get the idea. Finally, we’d finish with an arts and crafts activity.

Every class was it’s own form of adventure and chaos. On average, I had anywhere between 12-20 kids per class. Do you have any idea how hard it is to control 12-20 6-8-year olds? Let’s just say I now have a newfound respect for elementary school teachers. The 9-11-year old group was a lot calmer, and they were definitely more manageable. Attendance was irregular, and I never really kept track of who came regularly and who didn’t. For me, I was thrilled if a kid showed up even one time. What was more important for me was that the kids learned to like reading, not how many times they came to class. Eventually, the popularity of the class spread and I had kids from neighboring towns coming to participate. Some kids walked over an hour just to come. It was touching. Of course, popularity can also be a downfall. I had kids harassing me constantly, wanting to go to class even on days when no class was scheduled. One day when I was especially tired and decided to take a nap, I was woken up to my roof and door being bombarded by a shower of rocks. Now remember, I have a metal roof. The sound was deafening and resembled cannon fire. When I stepped outside, I expected to see a hailstorm. Instead I found a group of 3-4 kids, bouncing up and down in the street: “Professor Lyndsey! Professor Lyndsey! We’re ready for class!!!” Sometimes it was worse with the parents. Every day I’d get asked at least once, “Professor Lyndsey, when are you going to start your classes again?” It was maddening. I had put posters all over town, made announcements in the APAFA meetings, and did regular weekly radio announcements to convey the class schedule. Sometimes I had people ask me about the class when I was literally standing right next to a poster with all of the information clearly stated.

Overall, it was an exhausting experience. Due to my personality, I do much better with older children and teenagers. Working with young kids is always difficult for me, and I’d always leave class a tired, haggard mess. However, it was an overall very rewarding and fun way to spend the rainy season. I loved teaching the kids the English words for seasons and then making paper snowflakes and popsicle stick flowers. I loved playing musical chairs, hot potato, and UNO with all of them. Also, do you know how adorable it is to be mobbed by a group of kids calling you “professor?” I loved the day my Peace Corps health program directors came and visited me and helped out in my class. We read a story about a mouse living in the city, made maps of the community with the kids, and then we formed two teams for a scavenger hunt. The previous day, I had gone around to the most popular stores, the police station, and the health center to solicit their help. Then I had drawn dozens of maps with routes that the kids had to follow. The first group to return back to the library and finish the scavenger hunt got candy. Of course, when it was all over my directors wanted candy too.

With any luck, I’ll be able to continue my literature club in the future as well. My doctor and the high school math teacher want to create a real library on the town square full of books kids actually want to read. We also want to start a yearly literary and cultural festival and start a youth reading club. Will any of this actually happen? I have no idea. But my inner bookworm couldn’t be happier. 

Where is AAA when you need them?

About a week ago, I was sitting on the curb next to my health center chatting to a fellow Peace Corps Volunteer on my cell phone when our ambulance suddenly arrived. Sensing something dramatic was happening, I ended my call and strolled over to the truck as my health team assembled.

Me: “So, what exactly is going on?”

Paola (the 5-year old daughter of one of the nurse technicians: “They’re all dead!!!”

Me: “…come again?”

Doctor Nahul: “Drunk guy got in an accident, flipped his car over a cliff in the next town over. Want to come?”

Me: “Uh…I mean, is there room for me in the ambulance? If this is an emergency won’t you need space for the patient?”

Doctor Angela: “Naw, it’ll be fun! Hop on in! Plenty of space.”

Me: “…you realize I’m not a medical professional, right?”

Doctor Angela: “Exactly, which is why you get to take the photos. Bring your camera.”

Fast forward to 15 min. later. I’m standing on the edge of a ravine, looking down at the shattered remains of a pick-up truck. The driver had obviously misjudged the curve of the road, skidded, and gone plummeting over the side of the cliff. The swan song of the truck was evident: like an earth-bound rocket, the car had dug a deep trench down the side of the ravine, uprooting shrubs and cacti and flinging earth everywhere. At the end of its trajectory, the truck, which really was little more than a metal frame, four tires, and a wooden pick-up bed, exploded. Planks of wood were strewn around the car like some sort of demolished picket fence, and the twisted remains of the rest of the car were hardly recognizable. The driver of said vehicle had bailed at the last minute and was sitting on the side of the road, a blubbering drunken mess but otherwise unharmed.

Feeling like the situation was a little anti-climatic, the doctors loaded the frightened driver into the ambulance bed. I, on the other hand, was on photo duty and had to climb down the cliff to inspect the car. When I got to the bottom and saw the truck, the first thought that came to my mind was, “metal pancake.” I photographed the truck, hiked back up, and promised to deliver the photos to the police station and to the medical office for their reports.

I should have taken that incident as a sign, some sort of premonition of the transportation problems that I would soon be facing. But, heedless of fate’s warning, I failed to take notice and also ignored the rumors that the rain had seriously worsened road conditions.

A couple of days later, I was approached by my doctor again. Every month they have to drive the ambulance to Tantará to deliver their monthly reports to its health center. Doctor Nahul wanted to ask if I was interested in traveling with them. I had very little to do, and the idea of meeting the Tantará health team was appealing. Plus, Tantará is Jeannie’s site, so I was looking forward to a good-ol’-fashioned American sleep over. That upcoming weekend I was scheduled to travel to Lima for the Community Health Program’s Early In-Service Training, but it was only Tuesday and we were only going to spend one night in Tantará. To me, it seemed like I had plenty of time to kill. So, I packed my overnight bag and hopped in the back of the ambulance.

I should have remembered that there’s no AAA in Peru.

As we were traveling to Tantará, I realized just how muddy the roads were. We only have dirt roads here, and due to all of the rain they had been converted to slop. About an hour in, we came across a small construction project. Two guys were digging a trench to drain rainwater off the mountainside. Since it was a mountain road, we couldn’t exactly go around them. We had a rock wall on one side of the road, a ravine on the other. Thankfully, the guys were nice and temporarily covered the trench with rocks, building a makeshift bridge to let us pass. We all got out of the ambulance and watched as Doctor Nahul tentatively drove over the rock-bridge and over to the other side. Unfortunately, none of us accounted for the fact that the mud on this side of the trench was significantly softer. We all watched with horror as the entire right side of the ambulance, in slow-motion fashion, sank into the mire.

We were screwed.

As the doctor called Tantará to ask for help, we tried in vain to free our ambulance. We dug pathways for the wheels. We shoved rocks under the tires to create stable ground. We tried everything…for four hours. And of course, it rained the whole time. I should also not that, because we thought we’d be getting into Tantará around 2:00, no one besides me had eaten any lunch. By the time the ambulance from Tantará finally came, we were all cold, wet, and hungry. Then the Tantará ambulance tried and tried to pull our car out of the mud to no avail. Finally, after two more hours, we decided to call it quits and abandoned our ambulance.

Our journey to Tantará was hell. In addition to the five people who had traveled with me from Aurahua, seven more had arrived from Tantará to help us. And we all had to fit in one ambulance. As we opened the bay doors, I was horrified to find four bicycles stored in the back. We had to fit eleven people and four bikes into a space not much bigger than a pick-up truck bed. And then we had to travel for two more hours to arrive in Tantará. Of course, these are mountain roads, meaning they’re riddled with potholes and rocks. Trust me, I felt every single one because every time we’d dip and jolt, I had a bicycle thrown in my face. When I finally got to Jeannie’s house, it was 10:30 PM, I hadn’t eaten since noon, and I was soaked to the bone. To say I was miserable was an understatement.

The next day I went to the Tantará health center to hang out with Jeannie, who is also a Peace Corps Volunteer, and wait for my ambulance to be pulled from the mud. It never came. No one was able to pull it out. In addition, because the road was so bad no one would be traveling that way up to Aurahua, meaning we couldn’t hitch a ride back home. We were all stuck in Tantará for another night.

During day #3, we searched frantically for someone, anyone who would be going to Aurahua. Unfortunately, after our accident no one was going to go up that road. Our only hope was to free our ambulance. At this point, I was worried. It was now Thursday morning and I needed to be home packing a suitcase for Lima. I watched with great disappointment as both Jeannie and Nathan hopped on the bus and mournfully waved me goodbye. They were heading to Ica to meet up and have fun with our friends in the Peace Corps Water and Sanitation Program, who we hadn’t seen in three months, before heading to Lima as well. I, on the other hand, was still stranded in Tantará.

Then a miracle happened. At 4:30 on the dot, our ambulance, battered and bruised, rolled to a stop in front of the Tantará health center. We all got in, happy to finally get the hell out of there. There was just one catch. Due to a virus, a good portion of our data had been wiped from our computer. As a result, my health center wasn’t able to finish all of its monthly reports. So, the doctor had to take the computer to Chincha to retrieve the information. Now we had a conflict of interests: several of the staff members and I needed and desperately wanted to go back to Aurahua, while Doctor Nahul and our obstetrician needed to go to Chincha to fix the computer. Surprisingly, the solution was simple. We would drive the ambulance as far as Palca. Those who needed to continue to Aurahua would get off and wait for the public bus, which was coming from Chincha and due to arrive at 6:30 PM. This bus would head straight to Aurahua via a different and safer road. The ambulance would then be free to continue on to Chincha. It was a beautiful plan.

Of course it didn’t work out.

Right when I started to hope, we came across yet another obstacle. It was another construction project. Now, construction projects here in Peru aren’t like those in the US. In the States, there are nice, friendly people in safety hats and neon jackets that direct traffic. The workers work for a while and then these nice, friendly people hold up a sign to let 10-15 cars pass. Then the workers work. Then the cars pass. It’s a very reasonable trade-off. Unfortunately, it doesn’t work that way here in Peru. Here, cars have to wait until the project is done or until the workers feel like it’s time for a lunch break. I watched as 30 minutes ticked by. Then 40. Then 45.

“Dr. Nahul, when did you say that bus would be coming through Palca?”

“6:30.”

I looked at my watch. It was 6:21. “Don’t worry, Lyndsey, we’ll make it. We’ll make it.” When the construction workers finally let us through, we sped down the mountain as fast as we could. I was just starting to hope again (always a bad mistake) when the ambulance suddenly slammed on the breaks. Wondering what was going on, we all got out of the car. That’s when we saw it.

There was a huge flash river raging across the road.

We just stared at it in utter despair. We were too shocked and miserable to say anything for a long, long time. I honestly had no idea what we were going to do. There was nothing for us in Tantará, and the road connecting Tantará to Aurahua was too dangerous to use. The only way home was forward, and there was a massive, impassable river blocking our way.

“So…now what?”

The doctor turned to me and, with a deadpan face, said, “We wait for the water level to go down.”

I looked back at the river. It looked like something you’d see in one of those white water rafting videos. “‘Wait for the water to go down’? ‘WAIT FOR THE WATER TO GO DOWN’??? Do you SEE that river?! That thing’s huge! How long is it going to take for the water to go down??” I practically screamed. The doctor just shrugged. Turns out you need THREE HOURS for a raging river to get calm enough to cross. During that time, I mostly sat perched on top of a rock, watching Homeland until my laptop battery died, doing my best to radiate an aura of hate and unhappiness.

Well, by the time we finally crossed the river (an extremely frightening experience that I wont’ go into), the public bus was long gone and my hopes of returning to Aurahua that night along with it. The nearest and last town before Chincha with any sort of civilization was San Juan, which is normally a quiet, peaceful little town with plenty of places to stay and eat. Of course, when we arrived all but two of the hotel rooms were booked and nearly all of the restaurants were closed. Trying to make the best of our situation, I tried to form some sort of alternate plan for getting home. After asking everyone I could find with a private car if they could drive us to Aurahua, I finally met a man who agreed to take us in his truck early the next morning. Praise Jesus! I was going home at last! Happy and content, I scarffed down my dinner only to see my driver come in a couple of minutes later with a forlorn look on his face. “I’m sorry miss, but there seems to be some sort of problem with my tires. I don’t think I can take you to Aurahua after all.” At that point, I was too exhausted and too used to failure to care much. I just carried myself to the hotel, curled up, and went to sleep.

The next day (day #4 on this trip of hell), we found ourselves with barely any money, no clean clothes, and out of patience. I woke up at the crack of dawn to try to find a ride for us, but had no luck. Finally later that morning, our original driver came back and had pity on us. He said he could take us as far as Palca and from there we could either take the public bus or try to catch an earlier ride. Feeling like this was a step in the right direction, we took him up on his offer. When we got to Palca, which is nothing more than a cluster of farms and one general store, we sat around and did nothing for four hours. I did a lot of reading and drowned my sorrows in cheap packaged cookies from the general store. I also tried to steal avocados from a nearby tree with some of the medical staff, but we got caught by a farmer and had to make a hasty retreat.

Then a miracle happened.

At long last, a police car drove through Palca, saw us, and said that it could take us to Arma, a much bigger and more comfortable town three hours away from Aurahua. We got in the car and nearly cried from happiness. When we got to Arma, we were able to eat dinner at the police station and played a police officers vs. health team volleyball game. At 8:30 PM we heard the honk of the bus, which to me sounded like a choir of heavenly angels. I got on and practically kissed the driver as I took my seat. There was only one scare: when we were five minutes away from Aurahua we found that the road was blocked by a small landslide. Thankfully, our bus was able to drive over the pile of dirt and rocks without any problems. As a result, I got home, at long last, at 10:30 PM. I was three days late, but better late than never.

That night, I got to sleep in my own bed, tucked under my own covers, and wearing a fresh set of pajamas. It was a euphoric experience. However, before going to sleep I did manage to pack my suitcase for Lima. The next morning, I got on a bus and was able to travel to Ica to spend one day with all of my Peace Corps friends*. Then Jeannie, Nate, and I went to Lima for our training and, thank God, my bad luck came to an end.

When I finally came back to Aurahua, my doctor asked me with a smirk on his face, “So Lyndsey, you think you’ll ever go with us again to Tantará?” I thought long and hard. “Well, of course I would, but only AFTER the rainy season. Until then, you guys on your own.”

*Side story: My bad luck wasn’t quite over at this point. Because school was about to start, lots of people in my town wanted to sell sheep in the Chincha market in order to have money to buy school supplies and uniforms. Unfortunately, there wasn’t enough room in the underbelly of the bus to stuff the 20+ sheep (yes, you read that right…normally during my trips to Chincha the bottom cargo area of the bus is stuffed with farm animals instead of luggage). Solution? Why, you tie them to the roof of the bus instead, of course! During the drive to Chincha, the bus always passes through a dusty, blazing hot dessert. Since there’s no air conditioning on the bus, I always fling the window open and practically stick my head out like a dog. As we were going through the dessert, I suddenly felt this sprinkling on my arm and face. That’s weird, I thought, rain in the dessert? No, no…it wasn’t rain. One of those poor sheep tied to the roof of the bus couldn’t hold it any longer, lost control of it’s bladder, and began to pee. That’s right. I was peed on by a sheep. I swear karma really had it in for me that day. 

Sorry for the delay

I hope my long hiatus from blogging hasn't discouraged you and caused me to lose all my readers...I have excuses! Good excuses! First of all, I finished my mammoth of a 3-month project: writing my community diagnostic for Aurahua. This leviathan of a document totaled a whopping 109 pages and included informal and formal interviews with townspeople, doctors, teachers, and government authorities, youth survey data and house survey data, heath data from the past two years, and my own analyses and conclusions. Oh, and I wrote two copies, on in English and one in Spanish. That brings the actual grand total to 218 pages. Can you see why I wasn't exactly in the mood to write much? Well, in any case the diagnostic is done and over with, so hopefully I'll be back to blogging regularly. Thanks for your patience!